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“What do you feel like this evening?” Caitlin asks, looping her arm through mine as we head toward her apartment building.
It’s one of the fanciest high rises in town, the lobby all pristine marble. A doorman in a suit – Alonso, the same man who’s been stationed at the door since she moved in – tips his hat and opens the glass door for us.
“I don’t mind,” I tell her. “I’ll have whatever you like.”
Whatever you want, Caitlin, I feel like screaming. I’ll do whatever it takes so you don’t hate me.
I end up staying the night at Caitlin’s, calling Mom to arrange a change of clothes for me. Caitlin sends one of Solomon’s guards to collect it. It’s just one of the perks of being a billionaire’s daughter.
And what about being a billionaire’s wife? a voice hisses in my mind.
I shut that thought down as I drop onto the guest bed, lying back and staring up at the ceiling. We’ve spent the evening binging TV and eating pizza, and now I feel bloated and tired.
My eyelids are heavy from my first day at Solomon Sky Digital, and yet I find that true exhaustion dances away from me.
Over and over – relentlessly – my mind returns to the scene in the garage.
I remember the way he stood over me when I was bottomless, the fierceness of his eyes, the way his gaze seemed to consume me so that I felt like the only woman alive.
Did I dream it?
I can’t possibly have done something so sexual and heated with Caitlin’s dad, the man I’ve fantasized about for more years than I could ever admit to my best friend.
I stand up and walk into the ensuite, brushing my teeth and then returning to bed. I strip down to my underwear and climb under the covers, rolling over and closing my eyes, trying to banish traitorous thoughts of Solomon from my mind.
My pussy twinges any time I relive the way his tongue seared across my sex, the passion in the firmness of his hands on my thighs.
I bite down, knowing it’s wrong even as I do it, sliding my hand down my belly and toward my sex.
I’ve touched myself to thoughts of Solomon before, but this is different.
This is based on something that actually happened.
I smile widely when I remember him softly pinching my cheek, smirking at me.
Does it feel real, my little dreamer?
Yes, it felt real. It felt like the most real thing I’ve ever done.
I’m about to slide my hand under my panties when there’s a knock at the door, woodpecker-like, frantic, and anxious.
“Soph?” Caitlin calls. “I’m sorry. Are you asleep?”
“N-no,” I say, voice faltering.
There’s no way she can know what I was about to do, is there?
God, this is such a mess.
“Can’t sleep?” I say, raising my voice.
“Can’t stop thinking about that asshole,” she says. “I was wondering if we could hang like old times?”
“Sure,” I say. “Just let me put on some PJs.”
“Okay, awesome. I’ll make us some cocoa?”
“Sounds great.”
I go to the dresser drawers at the far end of the room and find my PJs. I stay over here quite often, so I’ve got hanging-out clothes and pajamas here, but nothing professional enough for the office tomorrow.
As I open the drawer, I have to fight hard to ignore the compelling urge that tears its way through me, roaring deafeningly in my mind, telling me to get back to bed and bring myself to a soul-searing orgasm as I think of Solomon.
I get changed just as Caitlin returns with the cocoa and some blankets and pillows. She grins as she carries them across the room, placing them on the small table in the corner.
“We haven’t had a sleepover for ages,” she says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Should we watch a movie?”
“If you want,” I tell her.
She tilts her head at me, her dark hair framing her face. She looks younger than normal without any makeup on. Unlike me, she usually applies a liberal shield of it.
That’s her word. Shield. Protecting herself from the harsh glare of the world.
“Why are you being so weird?” she says.
“Huh?” I reply, turning away from her as I collect my cocoa from the table.
But I can feel her gaze on my back, her question hanging in the air for a moment.
I turn back to find her with her eyebrow cocked in that knowing way of hers. Ever since we were kids, she’s been able to tell when I’m not being completely upfront with her.
It’s one of her most endearing and, right now, annoying traits.
“Soph,” she says. “Don’t bullshit me. Did something happen at work?”
I’d laugh at that statement if it wasn’t so terrifying.
I imagine how her face would change from playful and inquisitive to unchecked hate if I told her the truth.
